Ruthless Boss, Dream Baby Page 15

  ‘Is this the kitchen?’ He pressed open a door. ‘You go and change while I make some coffee. Do you want something more to eat?’

  ‘No!’ She laughed.

  He was pleased to see it.

  ‘You?’ she said.

  He felt a jolt when their eyes met. ‘Maybe…’ He was hungry.

  ‘There are eggs in the fridge.’

  ‘That’s good for me. Go.’

  He got busy in her neat, attractive kitchen, finding the eggs, a bowl, some cheese and plenty of seasoning. He thought about Magenta as he whisked the eggs. She concerned him on several levels. Her friend Tess had been at pains to tell him how hard she worked. She’d been holding everything together single-handed for months now, apparently, fending off her father’s creditors whilst still managing to energise her team and come up with a host of brilliant ideas. She’d drawn him in.

  ‘You’re back,’ he said, feeling a bolt of something warm and steady when she walked into the room. She was slender but womanly, tall, but not too tall. She was beautiful, quirky and under-appreciated—at least by a man. It was strange where his senses took him—sixth sense, his mother had called it. ‘Omelette good for you?’ he said on a lighter note.

  ‘You are joking?’ she protested with a laugh.

  ‘Well, I’ve made an extra one. You should eat more.’

  ‘I have eaten.’ She held up her squeaky-clean hands to remind him.

  ‘Eat,’ he said, taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  She perched at the breakfast bar, crossing her silk-clad legs one over the other—slender legs, sexy heels, sheer stockings. He could see the outline of her suspender button beneath the fine wool skirt. ‘So you’re not coming back with me?’ he enquired.

  ‘I’ve called a cab. I hope you’re not offended. It’s just that it’s hard to arrive on a motorcycle ready for a meeting—apart from the fact that bike-riding sends my heart-rate soaring, I didn’t want to be late this time.’

  She smiled faintly and he smiled too. ‘Good thinking. You should look after yourself better, Magenta,’ he said, noticing how in spite of all her protests she was wolfing down the omelette.

  ‘Are you like this with all your employees, Quinn?’

  ‘If you mean do I cook for them? No. Do I want them in peak condition producing their best work for me? That would be yes.’

  ‘And that will be my taxi,’ she said, forking up the last mouthful on her plate as the door-bell rang. ‘And that was a delicious omelette. Thank you, Quinn.’

  ‘See you back at the office.’

  ‘You can count on it,’ she said.

  Magenta Steele was the consummate professional as well as a good-looking woman—though she was elusive, Quinn thought as he brought their meeting to a close. He could pin her down in business—having heard her pitch, he could be fairly certain they’d win an industry award for her sixties campaign, for example—but when it came to knowing what made Magenta the woman tick, that was a whole different ball-game.

  ‘Dinner tonight,’ he said as she packed up her briefcase. ‘That wasn’t a question, Magenta,’ he added when she looked at him with surprise. ‘If we’re going to take this company where it needs to go, you and I have to embark on a crash course of familiarisation so we can do more than work together. We have to be able to read each other’s minds.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ she said, a faint smile creeping onto her lips as she busied herself sorting documents, ‘is the theme I suggested for the party okay with you—or do you think it too predictable?’

  ‘Sixties?’

  ‘Medallions, flares and lots of chest hair?’ She looked at him now, looked him long, hard and straight in the eyes.

  ‘I think I can come up with something.’

  ‘I’m sure you can.’

  But it wouldn’t wait until the party, Quinn thought as Magenta left the room.

  ‘You’re impossible,’ Tess told Magenta when she heard Magenta had booked a table for supper with Quinn for six o’ clock that evening. ‘What sort of dating time is that? And why a steak house? Haven’t you heard of sexy venues and subdued lighting?’

  ‘Not when I’m holding a business meeting—this isn’t a date. Quinn and I have important things to discuss.’

  ‘Like what? Your place or mine?’

  ‘Like where we’re going with the business. I’m only pleased that he’s involving me.’

  ‘Magenta, are you blind? First off, you’re the heart of Steele Design—you’re the major reason people come to us for ideas. Quinn is never going to get rid of you. And, secondly, perhaps most important of all, Quinn is one hot-looking man.’

  ‘And my employer. I never mix business with pleasure.’

  ‘Never say never—and by the way, you with serious frown lines sprouting like weeds on your face, you’re coming with me.’

  Shaking her head in bemusement, Magenta allowed Tess to drag her out of the office. It was their lunch hour and she had been neglecting her friends recently. Calm down—go with the flow for once, she told herself firmly.

  ‘A hairdresser’s?’ Magenta said, gazing up at what seemed to be a vaguely familiar door.

  ‘Bed-head to beauty queen,’ Tess promised, chivvying her inside. ‘I bring you my friend,’ she told the young man with floppy hair. ‘You’d better look after her, Justin. I hold you personally responsible for the safe return of this woman. She must look refreshed and years younger by the time you’ve finished with her—like she’s never done a day’s work in her life.’

  ‘Miracles take a little longer,’ Justin opined, studying Magenta critically.

  ‘If I’m a lost cause…’ Magenta was already leaving.

  ‘Lost, you may be,’ Justin declaimed in stentorian tones. ‘But now I have found you all will be well again.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s okay then,’ Magenta said uncertainly, noticing Tess was blocking her only escape route to the door.

  ‘And see she gets her nails done, will you?’ Tess added in an aside. ‘Something Jackie Kennedy—French manicure, perhaps? She might look like she works down a coal mine, but she’s actually a creative.’

  ‘I know the type,’ Justin assured her in a theatrical whisper.

  ‘Just make sure she’s ready to play her role in a very important sixties party tomorrow night. Oh, and she’s got a date tonight, so make it sexy.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘You’ve gone too far this time,’ Magenta complained, but Tess was already pulling faces at her from the wrong side of the door.

  Magenta caught sight of her reflection in one of the many mirrors on the way out of the salon. Justin had given her a new look all right. Her hair was long, sleek and shiny, as opposed to the notorious bed-head frizz-top, as diagnosed by Tess.

  Trust a friend to tell you the truth, Magenta thought wryly, brushing her long fringe out of her eyes. Justin had modelled her on one of his favourite sixties icons, he had explained, a model called Jean Shrimpton who had already appeared on the cover of Vogue at the age of eighteen. ‘But I’m twenty-eight,’ Magenta had protested.

  ‘And don’t look a day over forty,’ Justin had told her reassuringly. ‘That’s how you will continue to look unless you allow me to work a little magic.’

  It was when Justin talked about magic that the dream started coming back to her—bits and pieces to begin with, and then rushing in on her like a tidal wave she couldn’t escape. Not that it had anything to do with real magic; she knew that. Dreams were the work of an over-active mind. All she had to do was slow down a bit and she’d sleep soundly at night again.

  Slowing down meant walking through the park instead of powering along the pavements, but slowing down allowed more thoughts to crowd in. There had been a pregnancy, she remembered—yes, a pregnancy in a dream, but the baby had seemed very real to her. It still did…

  Silent tears crept down her icy cheeks.

  She wanted a baby.

  Having a baby had never crossed her mind befo
re. She hadn’t realised there was anything missing in her life. She hadn’t had time to realise anything was missing; work took up every minute. Slowing to a halt in front of a park bench, she sank down onto the cold wooden slats. Stretching out her legs in front of her, she gazed across the placid surface of the boating lake. She’d made a baby with Quinn? Well, that should have brought a smile to her face.

  It didn’t.

  Picking up a pebble, she stood up and skimmed it across the surface of the lake. Ripples spread outwards, unstoppable ripples. There was nothing she could do to change the direction of those ripples any more than she could change the direction of her life to match the dream.

  There was no baby.

  Wrapping her arms around her empty belly, she mourned the dream-child in wistful silence until a spike of cold wind reminded her she should be getting back. She turned reluctantly. Dreams, Magenta reflected as she hurried back to the office—who knew what secret lives people lived in their dreams?

  Sometimes dreams weren’t just longings, they were premonitions.

  And that was crazy thinking. She shouldn’t be greedy. She should think about all the things she had instead and be grateful. Wasn’t that enough for her?

  A hollow no…

  Magenta had almost walked past the store when she stopped dead and retraced her footsteps. She stood in front of the window staring at the dress in silence. It couldn’t be. But it was. It was the same dress—the identical dress. It was the flattering navy-blue shift dress Quinn had bought for her in the dream. She stared at it, hesitating until her heart rate reached danger point, and then she hurried towards the entrance. She had to have it…

  They’d sold out of her size.

  It wasn’t meant to be, Magenta told herself sensibly as the sales assistant tried to persuade her to try on any number of alternatives. ‘They’re all lovely,’ Magenta agreed politely. ‘But not quite what I’m looking for.’ Not nearly.

  But she should make some sort of special effort tonight, make a good impression on Quinn for a change. She couldn’t go out in the clothes she’d worn all day at the office, so she chose something modest with a twist. Minimal, loosely draped and delicately loose, it was a silk crêpe dress in a shade of ice-blue that brought out the colour of her eyes. Having thanked the woman for helping her choose, she made her way to the exit. She was still short of a costume for the party tomorrow night—and she didn’t want to be predictable.

  She was tired of predictable, Magenta mused as she hurried along the brightly lit parade of shops. Tess was right, she did take herself too seriously, and the party was everyone’s chance to break out. Heading for her favourite vintage shop, she ducked inside.

  Well, that was certainly something different, Magenta thought a little later, smiling triumphantly as she hugged the package containing her prize purchase close to her chest. She doubted anyone else would have thought of wearing the outfit she had chosen to a party.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SHE arrived at the steak house exactly on time. Quinn did too, it turned out. They walked up to each other at the entrance with a laugh. ‘Shall we skip the meeting?’ Magenta suggested.

  ‘Skip it why?’ Quinn said as he held the door for her.

  ‘I thought the purpose of this meeting was to help us to get to know each other better so we read each other’s minds—it seems we already do.’ Magenta smiled as the maître d’ came forward to take her coat.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Quinn murmured.

  She was glad she had gone to the trouble of buying a special dress. ‘And you look…’ Was this appropriate chat for a business meeting? But Quinn did look incredible. With his thick, black hair as neatly groomed as it could be, and wearing a crisp white shirt, plain dark trousers with a heavy casual jacket, he looked tanned, vital, dark and amazing. She wasn’t the only woman in the restaurant to notice.

  He held her arm as he ushered her towards a secluded booth. ‘You’ve loosened up, Magenta.’

  ‘Have I?’ She raised an eyebrow as Quinn handed her a menu.

  ‘Your eyes aren’t shooting daggers at me.’

  ‘I haven’t done that for some time, surely?’

  ‘Since I scared you with the motorbike.’

  ‘You don’t scare me—it does.’

  ‘Lucky for you, I brought the car tonight.’

  Something looped inside her like a video playing a scene from a film. ‘The Aston Martin DB5?’

  ‘You saw me drive up.’ Quinn’s cheek creased as he grinned at her, and for a moment she was too startled to say a word.

  ‘That’s right,’ she managed, telling herself the car was just some ridiculous coincidence. ‘But who said you were taking me home?’

  ‘Would a gentleman allow a lady to take a cab late at night?’

  No. And if she attempted to go anywhere on her own she guessed Quinn would follow her at a discreet distance until he was sure she was safe. ‘But it’s early,’ she pointed out, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘Our meeting shouldn’t take more than an hour, so I’ll be quite safe going home on the bus.’

  ‘You could,’ Quinn agreed mildly, appearing to be intent on the menu. ‘Steak small, medium or large? Well-cooked or bloody? Sauce, no sauce?’

  ‘Fillet, medium, grilled, with salad, no sauce.’

  ‘We’ll take two of those,’ he told the waiter. ‘And some wine, beer?’

  ‘Water—fizzy.’

  ‘Done.’

  It was all so normal suddenly between them, without a hint of mystery or magic to raise a single awkward question in her mind. She had to stop with the imagination. She wasn’t at work now, thinking up some far-fetched ad campaign; she should be concentrating on the here and now and forget about what might have been in a dream.

  ‘What’s this?’ Magenta said half way through her delicious, crunchy pudding of lemon-meringue pie and vanilla ice-cream when the wine waiter produced a bottle of champagne and opened it for them.

  ‘A celebration?’ Quinn suggested dryly. ‘My guess is you’ve been too busy working even to think about celebrating the fact that Steele Design has a new lease of life—largely thanks to your efforts.’

  ‘And your money,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I hope I have some skills to bring to bear too.’

  ‘That’s why I went after you.’ Magenta blushed as she had a flashback to her dream. She pushed it aside. They were professionals; of course he meant business skills.

  ‘Are you saying there’s a possibility we might make a good team?’ Quinn’s lips pressed down attractively.

  ‘Why not?’ She held his gaze as the waiter served their champagne.

  ‘To the future of Steele Design,’ Quinn said, raising his glass.

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  ‘I’ll handle the business side of things, keep all the aggravation out of your hair, while you handle the ideas.’

  ‘Sounds like a dream team to me.’

  Realising what she had said, Magenta froze. She felt like a computer stalling when it couldn’t handle an input overload, but Quinn didn’t miss a beat. ‘To the dream team,’ he said mildly, chinking glasses with her.

  She didn’t fight him when Quinn suggested taking her home in his car. It was even colder when they got outside, and there were little flurries of snow in the air. Quinn settled her inside the strangely familiar interior and even helped her to secure her seat belt when he got in. That felt good: twenty-first-century man with old-world manners. It didn’t come much better, in fact.

  They continued to talk about the business, but there was always something left unsaid between them, Magenta felt, so she said it. ‘Quinn, do you dream?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ He turned right onto the main road, confidently negotiating the steady buzz of traffic.

  ‘I’m talking about the dreams we have when we’re asleep. I know everyone dreams during the day, but you’re in control of that.’ Quinn glanced at her and she could see she’d got his attention. ‘You only
have to think of something you want, if you want to dream when you’re awake, and before you know it you’re weaving a whole fantastic drama round it.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Quinn said dryly.

  ‘You know it is,’ she said, feeling a throb of warmth as their eyes met briefly. ‘What I’m talking about are dreams beyond our control, like the ones we have at night. Dreams that creep up on us and take everything in a new direction—a direction we could never have dreamed of.’ She laughed. ‘If that makes sense?’

  ‘It makes perfect sense to me.’

  Was Quinn teasing her? It was impossible to tell. ‘Do you have dreams like that, Quinn? Dreams that make a weird kind of sense even though you know they could never happen?’

  ‘Like a parallel life that seems to be reality?’ he suggested, sending a shiver down Magenta’s spine. ‘Sometimes.’

  He drew up outside her door, leaving no more time for questions—unless she invited him inside. The light was glowing in the window. It looked welcoming, and she was glad she had left it on. Prepared for a knock-back, she decided to risk it. ‘Coffee?’

  Just as she expected, Quinn looked at her and shook his head. ‘I only drink Blue Mountain.’

  It was as if she had received an electric shock, but she controlled it. ‘Lucky for you, that’s the only brand I drink.’ Her face relaxed into a smile. Everything warmed up inside her—or at least those parts of her that were already overheated, thanks to the Quinn effect, just heated up some more. ‘Shall we?’

  Quinn released her seat belt. His face was very close and his mouth was just a whisper away. How she wanted him. He could just turn and kiss her—brush her lips…

  She’d settle for that, Magenta told herself, only to see Quinn curb a grin. ‘You think I’m funny?’

  ‘I think you mentioned coffee.’

  ‘I did,’ she agreed.

  Coming round to her side of the car, Quinn opened the door for her and helped her out.

  I could get used to this, Magenta thought. This too, she realised as Quinn put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to keep her warm.